


Return

by LeilaSecretSmith



Series: Vennesetiid [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Ohdaviing is a bro, Oneshot, Poor Dovahkiin, Post Alduin's Bane, Revised 2017, The Mage's College is one big happy (dysfunctional) family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6148645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeilaSecretSmith/pseuds/LeilaSecretSmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Dragonborn returned to Nirn, it was not as the expectant panoply of dragons was waiting for. The fight with the World-Eater left behind a half-dead Dovahkiin, and wounds were rarely felt in Sovngarde.<br/>"Odahviing," Paarthurnax abruptly snapped, "get the Dovahkiin to the joore!"<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Return

When the Dragonborn returned to Nirn, it was not as the expectant panoply of dragons was waiting for. Instead of a lightshow, the heavens bursting open, and a roar of triumph, there came a soft puff, a loud crunching of snow, and then... nothing. When the lingering lights of Tsun's shout faded, they saw the tiny Dragonborn standing upright in the violent mountain winds, swaying unsteadily. Her Archmage robes were torn, burned, and bloody; her wavy black hair was tangled under her hood, bound by a circlet now scratched and discolored. Blood streamed down her body in a mixture of dried russet and fresh crimson.

She managed to look up at Parthurnaax and drop her beat-up bearskin pack before promptly collapsing into the knee-deep snow, staining the pristine white with red.

The dragons stared in stunned silence.

"Odahviing," Paarthurnax abruptly snapped, "get the Dovahkiin to the joore, quickly!"

The red and blue dovah reacted immediately, springing into the air and deftly flying across the small space to hover over the prone form, gently scooping her up in one massive clawed foot. In a flurry of hard flaps he was off, flying as quickly as he could down to High Hrothgar. Paarthurnax snaked his tail over to her pack as they left, brushing it over to rest against the word wall, where it would be safe until she could retrieve it later.

The Greybeards were just as surprised as the dragons had been to find the Dovahkiin laid bloody in their courtyard. Arngeir rushed out into the snowstorm with Borri at his side, and together they carried her into the cold stone fortress. Odahviing, once he was certain the Dovahkiin was safe with the mortals, flew back up to the Throat of the World.

"Dragonborn, can you hear me?" Arngeir asked in a clipped tone as he and Borri carefully lowered her onto his bed. The young Archmage only groaned quietly, her eyes rolling restlessly under their lids.

* * *

 

A few hours, a few potions, and a whole lot of bloody bandages later, the Dovahkiin was stable and resting. She was not, as Arngeir could well tell, out of danger, but at least she wasn't actively bleeding out. He regarded her silently as she slept on his bed, her heavily bandaged chest rising and falling softly with the rhythm of her breath.

"So you have done it, young Alea," he commented quietly, speaking more to himself than to her. "Quite an accomplishment for one of only nineteen winters. I can only imagine what else you will write upon the narrative of time before your days are through. Perhaps you can find more happiness than any such lofty destiny has afforded you thus far." The Master of the Voice sighed to himself, his eyes flickering to the two thick, pale scars that stretched beneath her left eye, mementos of her first meeting with Alduin. "May Kynareth guide you."

* * *

 

"Odahviing." The Dragonborn greeted her new friend in a strained voice, clearly struggling to keep herself upright and conscious as she stood in the snowy courtyard of High Hrothgar. "I need you to take me to Winterhold. I-I cannot make the journey myself." She wheezed quietly, the frigid air burning her damaged lungs. _Definitely feeling Alduin's last tail-strike right there,_ she thought to herself. "I need Colette's restoration magics."

"I will carry you, thuri," Odahviing rumbled, dipping his head. "I trust you are strong enough to hold on?"

Alea nodded, not betraying her doubt. She would hold on if it killed her. "I am."

"Then we shall go." The dragon lowered himself to the ground, pressing his neck into the snow. She staggered over and gingerly mounted his neck, settling in and pulling the multiple layers of furs she was swathed in tight around her body.

"Thank you, my friend."

* * *

 

Odahviing dropped Alea off in Winterhold quickly and silently in the middle of the night, leaving her on the roof of the Hall of Attainment.

"Drem, Thuri," he said by way of farewell, taking off as silently as a shadow before any of the townspeople could notice his presence.

The Dovahkiin, long since robbed of her ability to speak above a whisper due to her injuries and the journey, simply nodded. As he flew off she made her slow, limping way out of the cold and into the Hall. The stairs were the worst part; each step was agony to her half-healed body. Somehow, through grit or sheer stubbornness, she made it, stumbling into the first room she could.

"Enthir," she whispered, her voice rough and strained. The Bosmer, a light sleeper, started awake immediately.

"Uh, wha-?" He pushed himself upright, one hand coming up to rub his face as he squinted at the figure silhouetted against the blue light of the central magic-well. "Archmage? Is that you?"

Alea managed one quiet "help" before her knees gave and she slumped against the side of his bed.

"What? Oh, Divines, _someone get Colette_!" He leapt out of bed, clad only in his sleeping robes, and scrambled around to help his Archmage. "Shit, stay with me Spellweaver! MIRABELLE! THE ARCH-MAGE IS HURT!" Her skin was a strange combination of temperatures against his own, clammy in the extremities and feverish on her head and torso. "You aren't allowed to die on my floor, Archmage," he said in a panic.

Mirabelle came running in, hair and robes all askew, and the wood elf could hear the beginnings of chaos below as the other masters and apprentices woke up.

" _Archmage!_ " the master wizard all but screeched, dashing over to the pair. "Alea, what's wrong? Can you hear me, Spellweaver?"

The Dragonborn nodded slightly, curling around herself as violent coughs wracked her body. "Fought the... World-Eater... y'know, nothing... big..." she said, then proceeded to pass out, blood dripping steadily from her mouth.

"Enthir, help me move her to my room! I think she's bleeding internally!"

Using Enthir's sheets as a makeshift stretcher, the two wizards carried their Archmage to Mirabelle's room and gently settled her limp body onto the covers.

"Go get Colette, then more help," Mirabelle ordered just as Onmund rushed in. Enthir obeyed immediately, pulling on a pair of boots before dashing off to the Hall of Countenance.

"Alea! What's wrong?" The Archmage's husband panicked as he beheld his wife's state. He dropped to his knees beside the limp form, gently taking her smaller, battered hand in his own. "Alea... " he whimpered. "Oh, I _knew_ I should have gone with you!"

"Calmm down, Onmund," Mirabelle said sternly, hands glowing as she performing what little restoration magic she knew. "Alea is strong. If she killed the World-Eater, then she can survive this."

Onmund, upon realizing just how wise the advice actually was, nodded and took a deep breath, holding the cold air in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling slowly. He settled more comfortably onto his heels, his other hand going to join the first wrapped around his wife's ice-cold fingers.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he whispered, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. "I wish I knew more restoration."

"ARCHMAGE!" Colette's screech cut through the air as she sprinted into the room, slipping over the stone floor and barely retaining her balance, a jumbled mix of potions bottles, scrolls, and ingredients in her arms. The normally tactless mage abruptly turned grave and professional as she laid eyes on Alea's battered, shivering form. "Onmund, Mirabelle, move," she commanded sternly, laying her supplies on the chair near the bed.

The two younger mages moved away, watching with some surprise as she selected a strong healing potion and gently lifted the Archmage's head as she laid the bottleneck to the injured girl's lips. Slowly, she managed to coax the life-saving liquid into Alea; a faint gold glow shone dimly from some of the deeper wounds, evidence of the potion's effectiveness. A second, smaller potion was also ingested.

As Colette paused to grind some ingredients into a paste, Onmund looked back over his shoulder to realize that almost every college apprentice and master was standing in the doorway or waiting along the hall; they gazed in silently and worriedly as the Restoration scholar rushed to heal their beloved leader.

"Please don't die, Alea..." Brelyna whispered, tears in her red eyes.

Even J'zargo was unusually solemn, not a hint of arrogance on his feline face. "The Archmage, she is strong," he declared. "This one knows she will not fall so easily."

Onmund turned away, his heart swelling with pride to see the whole college behind Alea, one hundred percent. If she were awake, he knew she would blush crimson at the attention and give them that big dopey grin he loved so much.

"Get better, Ellie," he whispered. "Your family is waiting."

* * *

 

Alea was actually quite surprised to find her body pain-free when she awoke. She was doubly surprised to feel her husband's warm, strong arms around her, her head resting on his bare chest. For a long moment, she laid still, content to listen to her love's heart beating bold and strong in his chest. Then she remembered the frigid, painful journey on Odahviing's back, then staggering into Enthir's room. Then... nothing. She supposed Enthir had fetched Colette, and somehow she had ended up back in her quarters with her husband. Come to think of it, he had probably carried her there.

Slowly, the nineteen-year-old pushed up off the bed, gently breaking Onmund's hold on her. He, of course, awoke immediately, a disoriented haze over his sleepy eyes. Alea laughed giddily and jutted her chin forward, kissing the tip of his nose. _So cute, my love, s_ he thought affectionately.

"Alea? Alea!" The haze quickly cleared, a look of immense relief replacing it. In a flash, he was also sitting up and hugging her tightly, his chin on top of her head. "I thought I was going to lose you," he whispered, his grip tightening.

Alea's smile wavered a little bit, then faded altogether. _I thought I was going to lose you too._ Unexpectedly, tears welled in her eyes. _He's right,_ she realized. She had almost been lost. The thought caused her throat to swell up, and a warm tear slid down her cheek. She hadn't thought about her own fate while she had fought Alduin, maybe because she had been fighting for the world, for her husband and sisters and friends. She had never considered that she had been fighting for her own life too. A sob burst from her chest, and she closed her eyes, realization hitting her all at once. _I could have been lost, I could have lost all of you._

"You're back now," Onmund whispered, readjusting his grip as Alea buried her face into the center of his chest and cried. "It's ok, love. You're back now. You're back and everything's ok."

He was right of course, and the fit slowly subsided as she allowed herself to be soothed, her husband's presence better than any roaring fire or bowl of stew. She was home, safe in his arms. The World-eater was vanquished, and everything had been set right. Exhaustion stole over her again, and by the time Onmund gently laid back down and drew the thick covers over their bodies, she was barely conscious. _Everything will be ok,_  she thought.  _I have returned._


End file.
